Scars of a Hero
by Sandra Phillips
Summary: "I don't think anyone could have expected the scars of this war," Kakashi replied after a long pause. Each word was carefully weighed to hide his own exhaustion, and he was almost successful. "We never do." His free hand reached up to cover his left eye.


**A/N: **Wooooooooh so, going through the vault of fanfiction on my flashdrive avoiding typing my novel, I came across this. I almost never forget anything that I've written, and yet I had practically no recollection of this one. Since I don't really remember what my point was, I can't really edit it and make it perfect, and something's missing. It is also known as The One Shot That Had Momentum That Just Stopped (that I wrote a long time ago). But what the heck, we'll put it up. Enjoy.

* * *

The sun was hidden the day the war ended. Heavy, impermeably gray clouds hovered above the battlefields with the threat of a downpour, but the torrent had yet to come. The scent of rain was masked beneath the overpowering stench of the dead bodies, of blood and gore and the near-tangible stink of sorrow.

Two men stood insignificantly on one plain, the landscape all around them torn and decimated by the battle that had preceded. The taller, an older man with telling silver hair, rested his hand on the other's shoulder. The younger – he was only a teen really, with bright blue eyes teeming with unshed tears – made no move to shake off the hand, though his small frame was being racked by silent sobs. The battlefield was eerily noiseless as the two stood, both unwilling to break the fragile security of their wordlessness.

Four lifeless forms lay crumpled at their feet, in various positions. One, a boy who looked roughly the same age as the second, was directly in front of the blonde, face down. The earth around him had been stained a deep brown by blood that poured out of the wound in his chest. Through the tattered remains of his white shirt, torn skin and white slivers of bone mingled with red where something had seemingly ripped through his heart. His black hair was sticking up in odd places, though anyone who had known the boy would have vouched it was nothing unusual.

Sasuke Uchiha, the last and avenger of his clan, was dead.

Behind him, laying almost gracefully on his back, was the limp form of a man with long black hair and pale skin. His attractive face had twitched into a smile before he had died, and the blood that had drained from his head only made his complexion that much more stunning. _Finally got me, Tsunade,_ he had whispered, as the woman's punch had landed squarely on his neck, the words that had probably meant to come out as a cocky smirk squeezed through a broken windpipe and emerging feeble and sad.

Several feet away, somewhat behind the elder man, were two more bodies, closer together then the Sannin and the Uchiha had been. Both had unruly black hair, their identifying sharingans hidden by their closed eyelids, and both were shockingly more broken, twisted, and mangled than the other two.

The elder man was refusing to look at either of them. There were no spectators to the scene, though even had there been, they wouldn't have noticed the tears that streamed from his one open eye and were absorbed by the fabric of his black mask, unnoticed.

* * *

"They say eyesight cannot be restored," he said quietly. A moment passed. Almost subconsciously, the man lifted his arms to scrub at the bandages across his eyes with the back of his hands.

"Don't do that," his visitor snapped impatiently, smacking the man's hands away from his face.

Kakashi sighed, his arms falling limp to his sides once more. "I'm sorry," he whispered resignedly after a moment. He relaxed his neck, letting his head rest against the headboard behind him as if the weight of keeping it up had become too much. His gravity-defying silver hair was messy and unruly, unlike the usually perfect flip that it rested in. The boy at his bedside reached over and smoothed it almost without meaning to.

"Don't be," he finally said. "I can't imagine what this must be like for you."

The man turned his head away like he couldn't bear to look at the boy, a scowl crossing his features, though he couldn't have seen through the heavy bandages anyway. "You can't imagine," he spat bitterly. "When did you become such a liar?"

The boy drew back, surprised, before swallowing hard and taking the man's hand in his. Kakashi flinched involuntarily, but made no other reaction. His visitor rested his other elbow on his knee and put his head in his hand, and his grip on his teacher tightened. He closed his eyes.

"When I promised to bring him back," he whispered, "I didn't think it would be over my shoulder. I didn't think… I didn't expect him to kneel on the ground in front of me, and reach out to take my hand, and… after all of that, to try and kill me as I wrapped an arm around him to drag him to his feet… and he to fall on his face just like that, just dead…."

Kakashi took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. "I don't think anyone could have expected the scars of this war," he replied after a long pause. Each word was carefully weighed to hide his own exhaustion, and he was almost successful. "We never do." His free hand reached up to cover his left eye.

The two sat in silence in the blindingly, sickeningly white hospital room that smelled of cleaners and other shiftier substances, absorbed in their own thoughts and mourning, linked by hand.

* * *

A lone figure was hunched over a serving counter in a small, sparse booth tucked into the shadow of a building. His forehead rested on his fist and chopsticks held loosely in his other hand, though for once the boy wasn't eating. Occasionally, the vendor would meander over to him and cast a forlorn glance at the sole customer with a pitying look before sighing heavily and returning to his duties. Neither said a word.

After some time, the curtain to the shop was brushed aside as someone entered. The boy didn't turn to see who it was, and even when the intruder stopped directly behind him and stood, waiting, he made no move to address him.

"Naruto," the person finally said, their deep voice grave.

Finally, the boy shifted. With an almost-contained breath, he asked wearily, "What is it that you need, Kakashi?"

The man said nothing for a long moment, and eventually slipped gracefully in the seat to the boy's left. He raised one finger at the vendor, who had watched him since his entrance, and the older man nodded and bustled off towards the back of the shop. Kakashi didn't allow the silence to drag on after the civilian had left.

"I garnered some classified information today," he said, his tone deceptively light. Naruto snorted derisively.

"Is there any day of the week you _don't_ do so?" he asked, a tone akin to bitterness creeping into his voice. Kakashi was apparently unamused, his severity unaffected. He gave Naruto a look that would have made his younger self run and hide for cover, though now he met it out of the corner of his eye and ignored it. The man's next words came out of nowhere.

"You will be the next Hokage."

The boy didn't react. He set his chopsticks down on the counter, stood, and sifted through a drab, plain wallet at his hip until he found correct change, which he dropped unceremoniously next to his untouched bowl of ramen.

As the curtain fluttered closed behind him, Kakashi could just make out the words, "I don't care about stupid, childish dreams like that anymore."

* * *

The knock on his door echoed throughout Naruto's new, larger apartment. The blonde shifted on his black leather couch that still smelled crisp and pondered whether or not to open it.

A second knock, more insistent, spurred him to his feet. He made his way over to the offending door, grumbling, and pulled it open, unsurprised at the face that met him and equally unimpressed. "Go away," he said dryly, and closed the door.

A kunai blocked its path, a fragile black slip between the wood and the doorframe. "I need to talk to you," the visitor said.

"I'm really not interested, Kakashi."

"I didn't ask if you were interested."

"Leave me the hell alone."

"You're going to be the next Hokage, baka, whether you want to or not."

Half a second later, a kunai was poised threateningly at the older man's throat, who only glanced down at it dismissively before returning his grave look to Naruto's eyes. "Don't ever call me that," the boy hissed vehemently.

Kakashi looked down at him, his gaze as dispassionate as ever. "When are you going to let it go, Naruto?" he asked softly. "It was the only thing that could be done."

"A Hokage protects his people," Naruto spat. "I couldn't even save my best friend. How could I accept the job?"

Kakashi opened his mouth to speak, but Naruto didn't give him the chance. "And how dare you speak to me about moving on? You're the one that still wears that damn black thing, and keeps his hitai-ate covering his eye. You're the one who refuses to look at a pair of goggles or a festival mask."

The man's one visible eye narrowed, but he didn't react as violently as his pupil had. "You want me to move on? You want me to show that I've let him go?" He, unlike Naruto, waited for a response, but gained none. "I'd be lying if I said I had," Kakashi finally admitted. "But I'm trying."

He reached up, hooked two fingers around the fabric of his face mask, and pulled.

Naruto was stunned, speechless, less at the handsome face revealed as at the action itself. Finally, he looked away, ashamed.

"You could be the Hokage," he whispered desperately. "Hell, Tsunade could still be the Hokage."

Kakashi's voice was a sharp rebuke. "Tsunade is tired, Naruto, and I'm blind. The Hokage must be the strongest ninja in the village. I'm not lying when I tell you there is no other option."

When the man spoke again, it was quiet, gentle. "Sasuke's death was no more your fault than Obito's was mine, or Jiraiya's Tsunade's. War is hell, Naruto. I've lived through two of them – I think I'm starting to understand that now. If you want to prevent it, then you need to take a stand. Your village needs you to protect them again. It isn't the first time, and it won't be the last." His sigh was almost unnoticeable. "That's the cost of being a hero, Naruto. You have to stop thinking about yourself."

* * *

Rumors were flying. According to some, he was the youngest Hokage, even younger than his father had been. He was the war hero, who had a higher death count even then the missing-nins that slaughtered whole villages, and had the biggest bingo-book reward on the market. He was his father's son, with the similar Uzumaki coat and the blonde hair that was growing out just like his.

According to others, he was the heartless bastard who had killed his best friend, the last surviving Uchiha, after promising to save him. He was the Kyuubi-brat. He was nothing but a genin.

Naruto ignored the whispers when he stood in front of Tsunade, his back straight and head held high as she placed the hat on his head. He nodded once to her, solemnly, and she nodded back, no small amount of pride (and guilt) welling up in her at the sight. He turned his gaze to the councilmen behind her, and the blue was flecked with ice.

So swiftly that no one, not even Tsunade herself, registered the fact until it was over, their throats were slit and they were dying on the ground. Naruto slipped the kunai back into the holster on his thigh casually as the whispers died all at once. Tsunade watched him with a wary eye, one eyebrow cocked despite her training with masking her emotions. It had been a neat job, and none of their blood had splattered his new white robes.

As satisfied as he could be with his present situation, Naruto strode away from the shocked crowd, passed Tsunade and Kakashi and Sakura and Iruka and all the Konoha twelve – eleven – with their wide eyes, and straight to the graveyard.

He knew the rumors would only worsen. He was the heartless child, the bloodthirsty new dictator, the crazy war survivor, the unstable Jinchuuriki. Maybe there would be a few that knew about the councilmen. There might be a few rumors that he was a smart kid, that they deserved it, that he would make a good, iron-handed leader; he doubted it. Either way, no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't bring himself to care.

He was trying. Really.

* * *

A few weeks later, buried under mounds of forms and reports, Naruto found one particular paper on his desk that he thought deserved personally looking into. He summoned an ANBU under the moniker of Deer and quickly sent him off with an order, though he would have liked nothing more than to leave the cramped office and find the object of his search himself. Several minutes later, Kakashi materialized in the Hokage's room, somehow managing to stay in his usual lazy pose, his one good eye grazing over the pages of his little orange book.

"You haven't cut off the porn, I see?" Naruto commented dryly. Kakashi looked up, seeming to notice him for the first time, and to the boy's surprise, he snapped the book closed and sat down in one of the two chairs across from him. The chair creaked quietly as Kakashi shifted, putting the book on a tiny, uncovered corner of the Hokage's desk.

"I'm trying," he said, and though his voice was cheerfully sheepish, Naruto could still hear the echo of the last time he had said the words. Memories swimming through his mind, Naruto attempted a smile.

"You're still wearing your mask," he eventually noted, having nothing else to say. He wasn't that surprised, honestly. The man had worn a mask all his life. Naruto couldn't help a small flinch at the implications of the saying.

Kakashi nodded – if he noticed the boy's quiet reaction to his own thought, he didn't comment. "I was actually hoping you could help me with that," he replied elusively. Naruto cocked one eyebrow inquisitively, and Kakashi twitched at the resemblance to his father.

"Does this have something to do with your request for retirement?"

Kakashi was unperturbed by the Hokage's subtly confused tone. "Yes, actually," he responded coolly. "If I was no longer a ninja, I wouldn't have to worry about keeping my face covered. With retirement, I could remove this mask that I've worn for so many years."

Naruto inwardly glared when he realized that Kakashi understood every unspoken word the boy had thought, though his face only showed a dubious expression. "That was the reason you wore it all this time?" He sounded skeptical.

Kakashi only shrugged simply and picked up his book again, idly flipping through it to find the page he had left on. "Among other things."

Sighing, Naruto signed the paper. "I wonder if I want the day to come, when I understand those things."

Kakashi looked mildly surprised at the boy's odd statement and even more so as Naruto's pen glided swiftly across the page. "Didn't you wish to speak with me about my retirement?" _Or are you just going to hand it to me?_ went unspoken.

"Not really." Naruto smiled sadly as he handed the older man the paper he had just signed over the mounds of paperwork still to be done. "I think it's about due, Kaka-jiji."

* * *

"The rehabilitors have had no success then?"

"I'm afraid not."

"You don't sound particularly put off."

Kakashi shrugged, his shoulders shifting much more freely in the loose long-sleeved T-shirt than they ever had in his Jonin vest. "It's not all that different from before," he said, his tone neutral. "I wore my headband over it all the time anyway."

Naruto nodded absently, fingering the chopsticks next to him for a moment before picking them up and snapping them in a single, crisp movement. The quiet sound seemed to reverberate in the otherwise silent stall. When the tiny echoes had died, he turned ever so slightly to his left, where Kakashi was positioned so Naruto could see his good eye. "And the scar?" he asked casually.

Next to him, Kakashi took out his own chopsticks. "It is healing, slowly." He didn't pause, but there was a certain stiffness in his voice.

Naruto glanced over at him. It had taken him a long time to grow accustomed to the view of his full face, but Naruto wasn't one to marvel over anything for too long. Still, though, it was a rare chance to watch his teacher eat.

"And you?" Kakashi asked out of nowhere, making Naruto turn back to his own bowl of ramen self-consciously.

"I think about it every day," he admitted. "The other ways it could have happened, anything else I could have done. But even so, it all ends the same way."

Kakashi nodded. "You may have won your battles, and so won the war, but even so, I understand the wounds that you gained."

Naruto shook his head. "I'm the Hokage now," he said, and he allowed a hint of pride to creep into his voice. "It's my duty to protect the village and its people. What I did back then was only necessary to save their lives. I would do it all over again."

Kakashi reached over and ruffled his hair affectionately, making Naruto duck to escape the hand. "And that is what makes you a hero, Naruto." His sad tone contrasted the bright gesture. He withdrew his hand, slowly, and he looked into the depths of his ramen bowl in a decidedly un-Kakashi-esque manner. "I'm sorry, for what you had to do. It was my duty, as his teacher."

Naruto shook his head quickly. "No, I'm sorry. If I hadn't failed, you and Gai wouldn't have had to get involved. You wouldn't have had to be there for Tobi's death, or Madara's, or Sasuke's or Orochimaru's. You could have been helping others on other battlefields, and less people would have died." His bright blue eyes closed briefly. "So many of them died, Kakashi…."

Kakashi half smiled, half frowned. "Then, I consider myself lucky that I got away with my life and nothing but an eye I can no longer use." He stirred his ramen absently, looking at it but not seeing it. "It was my own fault, anyway… I knew the consequences of using the Kamui too many times."

Naruto grimaced, unlike himself. "Still," he said slowly. "I'm sorry, Kakashi-sensei."

Kakashi was silent for a long moment, his one eye peering into Naruto's with unusual gravity. Though his face was unmasked, his expressions varied from 'unreadable' to 'lazy' and hardly ever held any more emotion than he could convey through his eye. Finally, he tilted his head and smiled with his single eye closed, shaped into an upside-down u. It was a familiar gesture, but there were new additions – the tiny crinkles at the edge of his eye, the smile lines that formed even at the tiny uplifting of his lips, the creases that appeared between his eyebrows.

"It's okay, Naruto-kun," he said softly. His voice was cheery, but his student seemed to pick up on the undertones of bitterness as his bright blue eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "You know…." Here, his voice hitched oddly, and the adult seemed to swallow briskly before continuing, "It was only ever borrowed property anyway."

Kakashi-sensei sighed, and casually slipped his bright orange book into a pocket on the front of his vest. He patted it once, and then turned. In two steps, he was at the door, and it seemed he would leave the room without another word. At the last moment, though, he hesitated, one gloved hand resting on the door frame and fingers curling into the curtain. He very barely turned his head to the left, but it only revealed the edge of his hitai-ate covering his one eye to the teen. His free hand drifted up to touch it briefly, and he opened his mouth to say something, but no words escaped. Naruto watched him, trying to keep his emotions of pity and sympathy from playing on his face. Another moment, and the ex-jonin was gone.

* * *

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